The Rescuer

Early the next morning, Lontel awoke to the bow of the dory scraping gravel as it jarred to a stop. Through bleary eyes he peered around. The landscape hadn’t changed. They were still in the grass plains but at a fork in the North Enil. One fork continued north, the other turned northeast. Apparently Davlena was at a loss as to which fork to take.

A splash startled him. He turned and saw Davlena wading ashore. "Where are you going?" he asked. She made no response. A shiver of dread coursed through his body. He tossed the anchor onto the bank, grabbed his sword, and jumped out of the boat to follow her. He froze without taking a step.

Outlined against the pink morning sky was a man in flowing yellow robes astride a coal black stallion. His long white hair tossed in the breeze, and a thin smile broke the grayish white features of his face. Yellow eyes sparkled as Davlena approached the withered white hand outstretched to her.

Lontel snapped out of his startled awe as Davlena’s hand and her captor’s met. "Oberon!" he screamed as he charged after them. He crashed through the grass. Suddenly the world burst into a blaze of white as his head exploded with pain.

A dull throbbing pulled Lontel out of unconsciousness. He opened his eyes and saw the world as a swirling blur. Shadows moved back and forth across his field of vision. He shook his head and tried to move but couldn’t. Again he tried to move. Nothing. Slowly he became aware of cutting sensations in his arms and legs. He was trussed like a goat for the slaughter. As he struggled harder, he heard excited whispers. They didn’t sound exactly like human whispers to him. They had a feline purr to them. He blinked several times and forced his eyes to focus.

He screamed and fought desperately against his bonds. Over him, his captors laughed with glee. Sweat poured from Lontel as he struggled, never taking his eyes off the things that had him tied. One bent close, peering into his panic-stricken face. Lontel could smell its odd odor, like sweat mixed with an overpowering perfume. Its breath was hot and stale. When it stood, a fresh breeze wafted away the odor, and Lontel regained some composure.

He studied the man-beasts closer. Their faces resembled those of a housecat, except they had no hair but that tufted on their pointed ears and around their muzzles. They had thick torsos, arms, and legs completely void of hair. They wore leather shorts and riding boots. One or two carried large axes in their belts. The others had long swords. Their hands looked like cats’ paws with the pads elongated to form crude fingers. One unsheathed long claws and gently scratched its back. They spoke softly and purred while speaking, but Lontel could make out several words. As he listened more attentively, he caught more and more words until he understood the gist of the conversation.

"No! Not the water! Don’t throw me into the water!" he screamed and fought madly against the ropes. The lemonyx purred with excitement. Two lifted him as he fought and plopped him into the dory. Lontel continued struggling until he felt the boat rock gently and heard the creak of oars. He quit struggling and began whimpering, letting the tears he found no difficulty in producing flow freely. In between sobs he took deep breaths hyperventilating as much as he could without getting giddy. The oars stopped, and the lemonyx lifted their captive out of the boat.

"Nooo!" Lontel screamed just before they threw him. Just before hitting the water he caught a deep breath. He hit the water and it engulfed him. He kicked with his tied legs to try to reach the bottom as the strong current dragged him along.

He focused only on kicking to reach the bottom relaxing the rest of his body so he could stay under longer. He kept kicking gently trying to reach the bottom. He hadn’t thought it would be too deep, but as his air began running out, he realized he wouldn’t be able to use the bottom to kick off to reach the surface. For a moment he panicked and began kicking furiously for the surface. When finally he could make out the lighter color of the water’s top, he regained his self-control. Slowly he snaked his legs until only his face broke the surface. He gulped twice and sank down trying not to ripple the surface.

Again and again he supped air as the river carried him farther and farther down river. Lontel steeled himself for a sword or axe to slash into him ending his pathetic effort. As his legs tired, he tried working to shore slowly, but when he was nearly exhausted he gave up trying to hide and kicked for shore.

Time and again he thought he would surely go under and not resurface, but the thought of dying spurred him on. His legs felt like heavy wooden stumps. Finally, he reached the shore. He wormed his way into the grass and lay there crying and coughing. When no more tears would flow, and no water would come out of his drenched lungs, he worked his way along the riverbank looking for something to free him.

After an hour’s search, he found a large rock. He scooted up to it backwards until he could feel it with his swollen hands. Slowly he began rocking back and forth rubbing his rawhide bonds against it. After two hours of sporadic rubbing, Lontel felt a trickle of blood run down his hand. Cursing and crying, he continued. When he had all but given up, one of the strands snapped. He struggled fiercely and soon his arms were free.

He stared in horror at the purple lumps that his hands had become. Try as he might, the most he could do was a feeble flex. He lay back and sobbed. If only he could just close his eyes and wake up in Sepultha. How he wanted to walk into the Bull and down an ale then return to the street and find those two prostitutes who never asked anything of him except his money.

Lontel gritted his teeth as feeling, excruciating pain, returned to his hands. After an hour of torture, he was able to pick up two small rocks and grind through his legs’ bonds. The swimming had worked them loose, so his legs only tingled for a short while. He then picked himself up and began trudging upriver. He had but one thought – go home.

The mid-afternoon sun beat down, sapping his waning strength. After going only two miles, he couldn’t take another step. He found a soft patch of grass and fell asleep. He awoke shivering and saw the sun peeking over the eastern horizon.

Shaking, with his stomach growling, he stumbled to the river, splashed water onto his face with its scraggly beard, and drank. Chilled to the bone, he began marching south. Every muscle in his body ached. He had never felt so badly. Once he got home, he would never again leave the city. He didn’t need to be a master thief. It wasn’t worth this. He could live happily as an apprentice the rest of his life.

Lontel was thinking about the wonderful smells and sights awaiting him in Sepultha when he suddenly saw the fork in the river. Instantly he dropped to the ground, all thoughts of home gone. He had to get past those beasts that had thrown him into the river and helped capture Davlena.

At the thought of Davlena, he cringed. Hadn’t he just a few days ago told himself that she was the only friend he had ever had? True, but she was the one who had led them into the trap out of which he had just barely escaped. Yes, but she was under the spell of Oberon, so she couldn’t help what she did. Well, he couldn’t help her, so he might as well try to save his own worthless hide if he could.

Slowly Lontel crept through the grass next to the river. His heart clanged against his chest like a signal bell. He was sure everyone within miles could hear it. The grass sounded like huge limbs cracking as he gently bent the blades as he crawled.

He stopped, listened, and crawled again. Every five paces he repeated the sequence. Strain as he might, he could hear nothing. He gasped when he broke into a clearing made by trampling horses. For two minutes he didn’t move. His ears could only hear his heart and shallow breathing.

Still crawling, he worked his way to the shore and to his amazement his dory still sat there. It had to be a trap. Well, he would wait them out. He waited in his spot until the sun had almost disappeared. Not wanting to spend another night chilled to the bone, he darted to the boat.

No arrow stuck him, no hooves clattered over the gravel towards him. Lontel fell into the boat and lay there panting, waiting for the trap to be sprung. An hour creeped by and nothing happened. When he finally worked up the courage to peek out, nothing looked back but the star speckled sky. Sighing, he found his coat and a blanket by feel. Much to his surprise, his hand ran across the cold steel of his sword and also his dirk. With these lying next to him, he curled up under the blanket and fell into a fitful sleep.

Midmorning of the next day, Lontel awoke with sol staring him in the face. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes and ate every scrap of food he could find. He drank his fill of water from the river and checked the boat. Everything seemed to be in order. He was ready to begin his return to Sepultha, except with a full belly and a sword in hand Lontel began having doubts about returning to Sepultha empty-handed. Titarnaes’ words returned to him. Also, the helplessness he felt yesterday had already faded. Perhaps he could help Davlena. After all, he had escaped the lemonyx. He laughed at his bold thoughts. He was just one immature man who had never learned to accept his place. Surely he couldn’t… Why not?

The battle still raged within him as he pushed the dory into the river. "Hell," he said and pulled the dory back onto the bank and set the anchor out. He made up a pack that fit snugly on his back, grabbed his sword, and walked to where he had seen the hoof prints.

They were easy enough to follow in the soft plains ground. He looked ahead. As far as he could see there was endless prairie. The grass weaved to and fro in the slight breeze. He returned to the river, filled a water bag, and started on his rescue mission at an easy trot.

By the end of the day, Lontel’s tired legs protested harshly his every step. He wondered what good this empty gesture would do. Surely Davlena’s captors riding horses would travel too far and too fast for him to ever catch on foot. Not only that, but his water bag was already half empty, and he hadn’t seen any water in the ravines he had been forced to cross. At the thought of the ravines and depressions, Lontel’s legs grumbled. The flat looking land certainly wasn’t. It had countless dips, both gentle and steep, and they played havoc on a man’s calve and shins as he slid down them and then climbed out.

In a shallow ravine away from the gusting wind that had been battling him for the last four hours, Lontel curled up under his blanket. The wind whined mournfully through the grass and small scrubby bushes. Small animals scurried along the ground, their tiny feet sounding like heavy paws or large hooves to Lontel.

The dark had been Lontel’s ally all his life, helping him lead his life of petty crime and making him feel secure as he wandered about. However, the only other animals stalking the night in Sepultha were other men with a few dogs, cats, and rats scattered about, not goblins, lions, wizards, lemonyx and all those other creatures Davlena had talked about which now seemed all too real. The deeper the night got, the tighter Lontel huddled under his too thin blanket flinching at every sound. Only around midnight did his exhausted body finally drive his fear-riddled mind to sleep.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon when he awoke, more tired and much hungrier than when he stopped. As he took a sip of water, He heard the same crackling that had been the heavy footfalls of some hideous monster. Cautiously with his left hand gripping his sword he turned towards the sound. Staring curiously at him not two feet away sat a rabbit.

Lontel jumped at the sight of it, and it bounded away up the ravine. Lontel laughed hysterically as he cursed himself for being such a craven coward. Still laughing, he broke his small camp and started after his quarry again.

Around noon he saw a ravine that appeared deeper than most he had passed. Leaving the trail he was following, he climbed to the bottom, fought through a thicket of brush and found a trickle of water. He drank his fill and was filling his water bag when something else started through the thicket. Freezing, he watched out of the corner of his eye and soon saw a small deer walking towards him. He tensed and waited. When it was close, he sprang at it, but the deer darted away and shot up and out of the ravine.

"You slow mud turtle," Lontel chided himself angrily. Kicking the ground as he retrieved his water bag, he noticed what looked like onion tops growing around him. He pulled one and sniffed it. It even smelled like an onion, though small. "These can’t outrun me," he laughed as he pulled up as many as he could fit into his pack and stomach.

Feeling much better, he resumed the chase. For the rest of the day he alternated walking and running. He stopped when he could no longer easily discern the tracks of the horsemen.

In the dim light of dusk Lontel set up a snare with a thong like the ones he built as a child to catch rats. He then tried to go to sleep but found it no easier than the night before. Once again the small animals’ scurrying noises became the ominous tread of every monster his imagination could conjure. Only total exhaustion finally overcame his fear.

The next morning he awoke somewhat more refreshed than the day before. After gathering his snare, he began another day of running and walking. The terrain never changed. The plains grass drifted with the wind and was broken only by shallow dips and ravines that were now more of a nuisance than anything else.

That night, Lontel finished his onions and water. He sat sadly in camp wondering what good he was doing. No doubt Oberon and the lemonyx had already killed Davlena or done whatever horrible deed they were going to do. He sat scared of everything that moved in the dark. He now had neither food nor water and didn’t see any way to get any in the future. No animal was going to stick its neck in his poorly devised snare. They were all smarter than he was. His best bet was to return to Sepultha if he could and beg Titarnaes’ forgiveness. Engrossed in self-pity, Lontel fell asleep not even hearing the sounds that had for two nights kept him awake and frightened.

A horrible, spine-tingling squeal shocked Lontel awake just before daybreak. He sat up then froze as the squealing continued amid a horrible thrashing. He clutched his sword tighter as his heart pounded in his throat and sweat beaded on his frightened brow. Goblins! No doubt they had just caught some poor animal. He would be next. For two hours as the sun crept too slowly into the sky, Lontel sat absolutely still waiting for the inevitable to happen. It didn’t.

When there was enough light to see clearly, Lontel hazarded turning his head cautiously about. To his surprise, his snare line was tight, and a strangled rabbit lay at the end of it. Giggling, he gathered in his catch and carefully started a fire with trembling hands. The flint and steel only hit about every third try.

The smell of roasting rabbit calmed Lontel but awakened his keen hunger. When the rabbit was done, he allowed himself only half. The rest he added to his pack and once again began the tedious task of trotting and walking for the rest of the day. The only bright spot in the endless routine was when he again found water. That night he slept much better as he slowly realized his uncontrollable fear was gaining him nothing. Sounds still woke him, but they no longer held the terror they first had. Many of them he could now place to certain small creatures.

Much to Lontel’s amazement, his trap caught another rabbit. This one had succumbed much more quietly. Again, he ate only half and saved the rest for later. He resumed his quest feeling better than he had since the lemonyx had captured him. By mid-afternoon, though, he was as he had been every other day – tired and wondering why he kept going. He clambered down a particularly steep ravine and then up the other side. Just as his foot hit the top, he stopped. Lying in front of him as a dead lemonyx. Near it were two dead goblins.

Lontel unsheathed his sword. He counted at least five more dead goblins. The fight didn’t appear to have been too long ago. Lontel gingerly touched the lemonyx, not wanting to get near the grotesque bodies of the goblins. The body moved easily and seemed to even have some warmth to it other than what the sun would have given it. The body was still warm and rigor mortis hadn’t yet set in. He was getting close!

The brush to his left moved. Lontel turned to see a goblin as tall as he was lumbering towards him. Its huge jaws snapped shut and open as saliva drooled down both corners of it mouth. A red streak of blood creased it massive chest, matting the gray-brown hair. It carried the large war axe that no doubt had been the lemonyx’s. The guttural mumbling reminded Lontel of vile cursing.

With a shriek it charged. Lontel sidestepped the axe, but the goblin’s heavy body sent him sprawling. He jumped to his feet and ducked under the swishing slice of the axe. He lunged with the sword, but the goblin dodged the blow. The two weapons clanged together. As the fight raged, Lontel realized he couldn’t match the goblin in a long contest. Its strength was too much greater than his. He retreated to catch his breath and grab his dirk. The goblin pressed its attack. Lontel caught the whistling axe with the sword grunting at the sharp pain in his arm and shoulder then ripped through the goblin’s wrist with the dirk. Wailing painfully, the goblin dropped the axe and turned to run. Lontel drove his sword deep into its back.

The dying beast whipped around yanking Lontel’s sword out of his hand. He met the snapping jaws with his knife. He drove it again and again into the goblin’s throat as the two tumbled to the ground. He gasped as its teeth sank into his forearm. Luckily, the goblin died immediately thereafter and slumped onto Lontel.

Gingerly Lontel rolled the dead goblin off of him. Blood spattered his entire body. With the dirk, he pried the jaws open and pulled out his injured arm. He removed his sword from its back, cleaned it and the dirk and sheathed them.

After wiping off as much blood as he could, Lontel forced himself to look at the bite. Blood oozed from the countless puncture wounds made by the goblin’s pointed teeth. A bruise had already formed where the powerful jaws had smashed the muscle. Luckily it had died before it had done any damage to the bone.

Lontel rummaged through his pack and found the extra shirt he had stuffed into it. He tore it into several wide strips and wrapped them onto the wound. He then used the sleeves to tie his crude bandage into place. He slipped on his pack and left the bloody battleground. As he left, he heard a swishing overhead. He looked up and saw the sky darkening with the wings of gathering vultures that were circling lower and lower.

Two hours after leaving the dead goblins and lemonyx, Lontel found a small pond of water. He drank his fill, topped off his water bag, then soaked the bandages and carefully removed them. He grimaced when he saw the red puffiness around the bite marks. What he didn’t need was infection. Oh well, there was little he could do for his wound now. He rinsed his bandages and replaced them.

That night he slept fitfully as the goblin swirled through his nightmares, biting him again and again. Oberon was always there in the background laughing. The lemonyx chanted wildly, the goblin bit, and Oberon laughed again. The intensity built until Lontel popped awake his body trembling with an unearthly chill. He wiped the sweat from his face with his blanket. The grass softly rustled in the gentle breeze. The eastern horizon pinked as the sun inched upwards. Still shaking from his dream, Lontel began rolling his blanket. He heard something small scurry by and in the distance chanting. Chanting? He stopped and listened, his ears straining. There was the grass moving and then the chanting.

Adrenaline pumped through him. He had caught them! Trying to remain calm, Lontel finished rolling his blanket and breaking camp. His snare was empty. He stuffed it into the waiting pack. The chanting stopped and he heard laughter. It drifted off with the wandering breeze. They weren’t close, but he could reach them today. Lontel looked around his small camp. Everything was done. There was nothing keeping him here, nothing but his own fear. Finally, he slipped on his pack and crawled out of the depression.

Scanning southwest, the general direction Oberon had been leading him from the beginning; Lontel saw a tendril of smoke curling into the sky. As he watched, something flashed followed by a large plume of smoke. Oberon doing his magic tricks, no doubt, Lontel thought as he steeled himself to begin advancing towards his goal. He started to stand and walked not wanting to appear cowardly, then thought better of it and began crawling forward using the smoke as his guide.

Three hours later, Lontel reached the edge of a deep depression. He peeked over it and saw seven horses picketed near a small stream. Lontel could not help but stare at the coal black stallion. His gaze turned to amazement as he saw the horse was double hobbled, staked down, and had an almost clear bag over its nose and mouth. As he studied it, it turned its majestic head and stared directly at him.

Lontel froze. It had seen him and would now somehow magically warn Oberon! He started to retreat, but something in the horse’s eyes held him. Even at the distance of nearly fifty yards Lontel thought he could see sadness in them. He scoffed at the idea. Sadness in a horse’s eyes. Preposterous!

"Soon you will join me, beautiful Davlena," a booming voice said. Oberon, Lontel gulped silently. The voice continued, "You have resisted mightily, but my spells are working. Already your legs are open. Soon your protective fold will open as the stronger part of you begs me to enter you and make you mine. Shaking your head will do no good. You can feel the vapors working. You can feel the tingling urge building. Resist all you can beautiful elf. I have waited over a century for this moment and am in no great haste." The chanting began again. It made Lontel’s pulse race. He could feel a tremendous lust building in him.

He shook his head and laughed silently. No use letting the lemonyx work him up. They could do nothing to satiate the desire. He drove the chant from his mind and began working on some plan to free Davlena so they could make their escape.

The black stallion seemed to beckon him again. He stared down at it. A plan slowly formed. If the stallion would help as he just knew it would, they might have a chance.

Slowly he wormed his way down the gully to the stallion. The other horses shied away from him, but didn’t cause much noise. Lontel knew there was no guard and hoped none of the lemonyx were paying too close attention to the noise made by their mounts. He finally reached the stallion, which didn’t move as he cut it free of its muzzle and hobbles. Lontel almost couldn’t believe it when the horse didn’t cut him to pieces when it was free. Instead, it walked to a saddle and tugged at it. Lontel quickly saddled the horse. When he cut the picket ropes of the other six horses, they began nickering and bucking. Cursing Lontel cut the last rope and slapped the horse on the rump. It galloped away followed by the others. Quickly Lontel mounted the stallion and before he could give a command it thundered up the depression towards the chanting.

Just as they reached the top, Oberon cried, "It is done! Davlena has opened her elven splendor for me!" Lontel saw the wizard open his robes and begin approaching the naked woman who lay strapped to a table before him. The six lemonyx continued their chanting oblivious to everything around them. The stallion burst through them, sending them sprawling. The chanting stopped as the creatures were knocked about.

"NO!" Oberon roared, turning furiously, his robes flying away from him. His hand rose majestically, and Lontel dove into him. A loud whoof escaped the wizard’s lips as the human smashed into his chest. Quickly Lontel scrambled to the delirious Davlena, cut her loose, and carried her to the prancing stallion. He hefted her into the saddle and crawled on behind her. As soon as his riders were on, the mighty war horse galloped away leaving behind five befuddled lemonyx trying to completely snap out of their trances, one dead, trampled under the stallion’s hooves, and a winded cursing wizard.